


Hips

by amoamasamat



Category: Armie Hammer - Fandom, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Timothée Chalamet - Fandom, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 10:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoamasamat/pseuds/amoamasamat
Summary: What didn't happen in London (but some of us wish it did).





	Hips

Hiding in plain sight was what they had called it in private and for the longest time, until one boozy and weedy night Timothée had noticed the acronym. “Hips,” he blurted to Armie. 

“Huh? What about my hips? You have a new fetish? I thought you were more into what was between them.”

“True, but I just realized, hips is the acronym for hiding in plain sight.”

Armie snorted. “Ok, so it is. Now what?”

“Let’s use that instead.”

And they did. Hips became their code word for what they were doing and other things … is it a good time to text or talk or have phone sex, and when they were together, can I come to your room or your place?

Because hips was exactly what they were doing, exactly the extent of their relationship. They resisted labels and definitions, allowed themselves to be called straight, refused to get bogged down in explaining themselves. In private, Armie would murmur, “I’m straight except for you,” and Timmy would sigh, “Well, I’m not, but I only want you.”

Dedicated (obsessed?) observers would notice things and deduce there was more than a very close friendship: Timothée saying in one interview that his life now was like Elio’s, in another that he wanted to be open to deep feelings and experiences like the character … so Timmy was really bi, which in truth surprised none of his family and close friends. Timmy telling Jimmy Fallon how he got into bed with Armie and Elizabeth. Armie saying how he fell in love with Timmy and still was, how he projected Timmy into his childhood memories, and telling Ellen that Timmy had skills no one knew. And both of them declaring they had done everything in Crema that their characters did, then (but not always) modifying it: well not exactly everything. But they had, because Crema was where it started.

They were both surprised, sometimes astonished, that they got away with hips. But then Timmy knew that his expressive face, the brief public touches of his costar, the gushing, were all attributed to his youth and openness. And Armie had years of hiding his true feelings, creating a public mask, not letting too many people in. Except his eyes and the softness of his gazes at Timmy broke the mask.

Another round of interviews and Q&As had ended, and the two men were exhausted. They were both thrilled with the movie’s reception and buzz and in truth happy to promote it, but the repetitive questions, the interviewers not really understanding the film or them, the sheer number of events, had dragged them into a funk. They were quiet in the car back to their hotel, Armie tiredly (not really) resting his hand on Timmy’s knee, Timmy pressing his leg into Armie’s.

The London hotel was known for discretion, which is why Armie had insisted that they stay there. They weren’t acknowledged in the lobby. The elevator contained one older man, impeccably dressed, who muttered good afternoon as they entered. He briefly glanced at the actors and when his floor arrived, in one elegant move, he turned and smiled. “You were both brilliant in that film.” Seeing their sudden grins and not waiting for a response, he exited.

“Wow,” exclaimed Timmy. 

Armie agreed. “I know. I’ve always thought the British class system was ridiculous but that was one classy move.”

“He didn’t try to be overly-familiar, he didn’t ask for autographs or make bad jokes, he just praised us. Do you think we could make that the standard for dealing with fans?” Timmy smiled.

“Good luck with that, Tim. We’re not likely to experience that again. Besides, do you really want it?”

“You’re right. But if I see him here again I’m going to thank him.”

Armie sighed. Timmy was so receptive to praise and always going out of his way to respond. But Armie knew this time, Timmy was right. “Then I’ll join you.”

They were both happy as they reached their floor. Connecting or nearby rooms, Armie demanded and always got it. So what if his people suspected or knew? They wanted to keep their jobs and wouldn’t talk.

“Hips?” Timmy asked.

“Hips. Your room.” Elizabeth was visiting bakeries and shouldn't be back for awhile, but Armie wasn't taking any chances. Soon enough they were inside and Timmy was pressed up against the door, Armie’s hands roaming everywhere, his kisses insistent on Timmy’s face and neck.

“Armie….” Timmy whined.

“What?”

“We have more promos. Please no marks.”

“None where they can see.” Timmy visibly shivered with excitement. Armie always kept his promises.

Quickly, clothes were shed but they were too excited to make it to the bedroom. The couch would have to do.

Armie’s mouth had made it down to Timmy’s curly black bush. He licked all over, moved to the almost hairless balls, down behind them, before kissing the inner thighs.

“Please, Armie….” More whining. He loved how needy Timmy always was. It never got old.

“You want a blow job?”

“God yes.”

“And then I can give you a proper fucking? And make you feel it the rest of the day?”

“Oh God. Just do it.”

“And what will you do for me?”

“Armie, fuck, I’ll take you down my throat.”

“Not now, Timmy. You remember how raspy you get when you do that. Just give me one of those amazing blow jobs you do, not deep throat.”

“Yes yes yes, now please….”

Armie giggled and kissed Timmy’s cock. He had been surprised at first when they started in Crema. Timmy didn’t have Armie’s girth … hell, he hadn’t seen many who did … but he had a really good length, and Armie had to practice before taking it down to the base.

“God, you’re so good,” Timmy panted as Armie took him all and began to fondle his balls. “I’m so close.”

Armie pulled off. “You’re always so close, horny boy.”

“Not my fault when I’m getting laid by a gorgeous man like you.”

“You only like my body.”

“Fuck no Armie, you know better. I love you.”

“Then back to work, and I love you too.” All to soon Timmy was on the brink, and Armie, recognizing the signs, slipped two fingers in his mouth, wet them with spit and precum, and then shoved them in Timmy’s hole.

“Shit fuck goddam,” and Timmy exploded in his lover’s mouth. And did he explode … always at least five spurts, sometimes more. Today it was more.

Armie had that half-grinning, half-stunned look he always had when Timmy’s orgasm hit. Just watching the other man crest and subside never got old and always got him hard as a rock.

“OK, now I'm gonna fuck you.” Timmy barely registered the words but certainly felt the insertion of a third, then fourth finger. He wanted to protest but knew that the prep was needed. Armie’s size meant that Timmy always felt it at the beginning and later.

In Italy, after the first time, Timmy walked so gingerly that Armie panicked. He put Timmy in a warm bath and then did his best to massage the affected area. That just got Timmy worked up … of course it did … and Armie gave him a hand job, despite the pleading for another round.

“We shouldn’t do that again.” 

“What, fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Because I’m a little sore?”

“You’re not a little sore. You’re a lot. I hurt you. I tried not to. And I’m sick about it.”

“Armie! I wanted it. I’ve done it before. Just never with someone your size. And believe me, that big cock is a major turnon. I want it, as often as you’ll let me have.”

“If you’re limping or moving like this on set tomorrow, Luca will figure it out and blame me.”

“I won’t let him suspect anything other than I overdid at the gym.”

Silence.

“Armie, did you enjoy it? The fuck?”

“Enjoy it? God yes Timmy, god fucking yes. I almost blacked out when I came.”

“Me too. More than any other, ever. That should make you feel good.”

“You really want it? Not just shitting me or trying to make me feel better?”

“I want you to feel better, and no I’m not shitting you. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

“OK if you’re sure.”

“I’m more than sure.”

But in truth Timmy never did, not quite. It got easier but still burned for hours after.

So now he bit his lip on Armie’s entry, then adjusted and met Armie’s thrusts. Their moans, curses and the slapping of skin filled the room. Armie thought he should have better control, last longer, but something about Timmy made him feel like a teenager again. A few minutes later:

“I can’t … I’m …” 

“Come for me, my big man, fill me up.” 

“TIMMY!” And Armie was done.

When he finally looked down, Timmy’s chest and abdomen were coated in cum. Wonderingly,  
Armie asked, “Again, so soon?” 

“You made me. You always do.”

Armie plunged down on Timmy’s body, kissing him deeply and pressing them together tightly.

They drifted off. Timmy’s torso had bite and bruise marks on it. Armie always kept his promises.

*****

Awakening, they made out lazily before Timmy kept his promise and went down on Armie. The orgasm wasn’t as intense but that didn’t matter. Armie pulled Timmy up to him and kissed all over his face and neck.

“We should shower,” Timmy sighed.

“Together? Another round?”

“Now who’s the horny boy?”

“Guilty. But let’s not go again. I’m fucking hungry.”

“That’s my Armie, always horny and hungry. Don’t I satisfy you?”

“Yeah, but the nutritional benefits of cum are vastly overrated.”

Timmy shook with his full-throated, full-body laugh and they headed to the shower.

In the lobby, they were about to head to the bar for drinks and some food when Timmy noticed the man from the elevator. He prodded Armie and they walked over.

“Excuse me, sir, we want to thank you for your compliment earlier,” Timmy started.

“My pleasure. I meant it.”

“That was such an elegant way to do it. We were both amazed,” Armie added.

“Years of training,” the man smiled. He paused and added, “I doubt you have any time, but if you do, the hotel has an amazing high tea. I was just headed there. Will you join me?

The actors traded glances and thought, why not? Armie’s look conveyed that they could always excuse themselves if it was dull.

The three of them walked towards the restaurant. The maitre’d immediately asked, “Tea, m’lord?” The English man replied, “Yes, a table for three today,” with the practiced confidence of someone used to being obeyed.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“And a table where my guests won’t be disturbed.”

“Certainly, m’lord. This way.”

Armie’s mouth was hanging open and Timmy was almost there. “This is fucking unbelievable,” he whispered to Armie, who could only nod.

Once seated, the other man said, “I apologize for not introducing myself. I’m John Bottinger. Obviously I know who you are.”

“Our pleasure. But he said my lord?” Armie pointed to the maitre’d.

“Well, erm, yes. I’m the fifth Earl of Parkdale.”

“Oh my God,” Timmy exclaimed involuntarily.

“Please relax. I don’t have two heads and I can’t have you carted off to the Tower,” John chuckled.

Armie finally came to his senses. “That’s a relief,” returning the laugh. “I apologize for my friend here.”

“No need. If anyone’s star-struck here, it’s myself.”

A brief silence ensued, broken by John’s statement: “This is my party. I come here often.”

Arnie protested. “But sir, we can’t let you do that. Besides, our studio will pick up the tab.”

“No arguments. Peter already knows.” He nodded towards the maitre’d.

“Thank you very much, sir,” Armie responded.

“I’d much prefer it if you call me John.”

“And I’m Armie and this of course is…”

“Timothée,” John interrupted.

The tea was predictably delicious … scones, pastries, cakes, sandwiches … and John insisted on ordering more when he saw that Armie was still hungry. They talked of the movie, the publicity tour and London. John gave them several tips for things to do, and not just high-end places.

Timmy squirmed some at first but John seemed not to notice. Armie did and nudged him under the table. Timmy looked up and saw a brief frown on his lover’s face. He immediately understood what Armie meant and finally found a relatively comfortable position in his chair.

Armie was fidgeting with his tea, and now it was Timmy’s turn to glare at him. John chuckled. “Would you care for something stronger? I always do, especially in the late afternoon.”

“Are you sure? We’ve already imposed enough,” Timmy worried.

“Nonsense. If I don’t have a few whiskies before I leave here, Peter will think something is wrong. I don’t want him worrying about his job.”

The young men laughed heartily, and a waiter appeared out of nowhere. “Something else for you, m’lord?”

“Yes. My guests will have … um, Mr. Hammer?” John adopted a formal tone.

“Scotch neat, please.”

“And Mr. Chalamet?”

“Is gin and tonic ok?”

“Of course. Any particular gin?” Timmy shook his head.

John addressed the waiter. “Two whiskies, neat, and a gin and tonic.”

“The usual, m’lord?” The waiter meant the brand of single malt.

“I think so. If Mr. Hammer prefers something else, I’ll let you know.” Then to Armie, “I think you’ll like it.”

The drinks arrived. Armie loved the Scotch and Timmy thought it was probably the best g&t he’d ever had. More conversation ensued, followed by a second round.

“John, I’m guessing you don’t live in London.” Armie was finally comfortable addressing the older man by his first name. Timmy still wasn’t.

“I did for years but finally retired to my country house in Berkshire, not that far from the city. I come here occasionally for business.”

“Aren’t you in the House of Lords?” Timmy wondered.

“I was, but about 20 years ago almost all of the hereditary peers, the ones like me who inherit their titles, were voted out of the Lords by the Blair government.” 

“So is this your London base now?”

“Yes. It’s quiet, the food is good, the staff is attentive and most discreet. In fact I’ve often joked it’s perfect for an assignation, or a hookup, I think your generation says.”

Timmy blanched and Armie used every muscle to maintain a neutral expression and emit a quick laugh.

“I’m sorry if I offended,” John began.

“No offense taken,” Armie replied a little too hastily, as he began thinking it was time to leave. 

John signaled the waiter for another round, before Armie could say no. “Let me tell you a little story, if you don’t mind.” Before either of the boys could object, he plunged ahead. “Many years ago I fell in love with a young man. We used to meet here because I was married at the time.”

Armie and Timmy were dead quiet. 

“And it progressed to the point where I couldn’t decide what to do. I didn’t want to leave my wife and I didn’t want to stop seeing my … friend.”

“Do you have children?” Armie couldn’t stop himself.

“Yes, three.”

“Am I being too nosey if I ask how things turned out?” Timmy finally found his voice.

“Not at all. I brought it up, after all. My wife and I eventually divorced. We remain good friends and see each other at family events. And the man I loved moved in with me.”

“And you’re happy.” Armie’s words weren’t a question.

“Oh yes. Like any couple, we have our dicey times, but I can safely say we’re both happy and still in love.”

Timmy couldn’t control himself. “Why are you telling us this?”

“I may be highly impertinent here, and stop me if I am, but I saw how you looked at each other in the lobby and the elevator. And here too.” John’s eyes twinkled.

“God, we’re that obvious?” Timmy groaned. Armie almost choked.

“No, you’re not. But as someone who has been in a similar situation, I perhaps recognize little signs that most people would miss.”

Armie started to respond, but John continued. “I’ve seen a few of your interviews, and you’re both in excellent command of the situation. Nothing is really obvious, but neither of you shy away from expressing your feelings about the other. I’d say you’re doing what my Frank and I used to do, hiding in plain sight.”

“Oh man, we always say that. In fact we call it hips.” Timmy’s words burst out before he could stop them. Now Armie looked as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“Hips? Ah, the acronym. How perfectly brilliant. I wish we had thought of that.”

Timmy didn’t know what to say. Armie was looking away when John reached across the table and lightly tapped his hand.

“Armie, as my youngest son would say, don’t be so gutted. I’m not going to say anything to anyone, even to Frank.”

“Thanks,” Armie whispered.

“But I know how difficult it can be to arrange time together in your … circumstances. Here’s my card with my country address. Call anytime and the two of you are most welcome to visit as my guests. I can send a car to meet you at the airport or train station. Frank and I can even arrange to be away if that helps.”

“Wow, that’s awesome, so generous,” Timmy exclaimed.

“My pleasure.”

“But won’t Frank need to know?” Armie was finally starting to relax but still sounded worried.

“When you decide to visit, and I want you to, I’ll tell him who’s arriving. He’s seen the film. He’ll know your names. I’ll let him draw his own conclusions. I can assure you he won’t object or be indiscreet.”

“Then Timmy is right, that’s incredibly generous.”

“Please take me up on it. We don’t have a Downton Abbey staff, though. I hope you aren’t disappointed.”

“You’ve basically said we could stay at your home any time, how could we be disappointed? Unless it’s a shack.” Armie had finally regained his sense of humor.

“It’s probably not up to Hollywood standards, but it is 97 rooms.” John enjoyed the repartée.

“It would take several of my houses to make 97 rooms.” Armie was genuinely amazed.

“And it would take 97 of my apartments,” Timmy joked, as any remaining tension vanished.

“We do have a cook, a chauffeur who doubles as a maintenance man, plus a part-time gardener. So you won’t be left to your own devices. They know not to say anything or spread rumors. We’ve had a couple of junior members of the royal family visit often with their friends.” John put an arch twist on the last word.

Timmy started to say, “Who?” but Armie kicked his foot.

“Seriously, call me any time and we can make the arrangements. It’s open-ended.” John handed Armie an elegant, engraved card with his personal numbers on it.

“We really don’t know how to thank you.” Armie heard the relief in his voice.

“You already have. Now, perhaps another drink? Or would you prefer dinner?”

“We have to meet our publicists for dinner, thanks. But another round would be great.”

After more conversation, saying their goodbyes and profusely thanking John again, Armie and Timmy stood in the lobby, not sure how to process what had happened.

“Can you believe….” Armie started.

“Dude, I told you we should talk to him if we saw him.” Timmy had returned to being cheeky, probably because he was more than a little drunk.

“Yes but…” Armie rejoined.

“Let’s talk about this upstairs, ok?” Timmy still had enough presence of mind not to want anyone else around being as perceptive as John.

“Right. But first let’s do something for him. Come on.”

Armie returned to Peter and in a proper voice began, “The gentleman we had tea with…”

“Lord Parkdale.”

“Yes. We’d like to have a bottle of his favorite single malt sent to his room.”

“I think two bottles, Armie.”

“Ok, make it two bottles. And please charge it to….”

“Your room, Mr. Hammer?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“Any message, sir?”

Armie fumbled for a card in his wallet and then wrote something on it. “Yes, please include this.”

“Very good, sir.” 

Armie reached to shake Peter’s hand. The maitre’d was surprised but quickly returned the gesture. And then in his most professional tone added, “A genuine pleasure to serve you both.”

In the elevator, after a brief sloppy kiss, Timmy asked, “What did you write on the card?”

“Many thanks for everything. Hips, Timothée and Armie.”

“You always know what to say, Armie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Thanks to the other authors for the title idea, and apologies if any of them are upset for my building on it. Also, as we all know, this is a work of fiction, and I have no IP or other rights to Timothée Chalamet, Armie Hammer or their families, friends and colleagues.


End file.
